


just a breather

by charming_syrai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charming_syrai/pseuds/charming_syrai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pre S5E10 <span class="u">Abandon All Hope</span> | <i>Dean, he smiles at her and though it's not that boyish trademark grin of his saying more than words ever could, she still gets the message.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	just a breather

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Written for [Porn Battle XII (The Dirty Dozen)](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/40106.html?thread=6175146)

Holy shit, this is not gonna end good, is it?

Jo, _fine_ , she admits always wanting to be a hunter, just like her Dad had been (just as awesome, just as brave), but what she doesn’t want, has _never_ wanted, is to die young and hell if it isn’t looking pretty damn possible right now. Of course she knows, has known all along ever since she picked up a gun and started hunting those ugly sons of bitches that hunters, in general, don’t get to grow old the way normal people do but knowing it’s possible they get you _some day_ is definitely not the same as knowing it’s more than likely _tomorrow._

Besides, she’s got a really bad feeling about the mission at hand, way worse than usually -like _Han Solo_ bad- and it doesn’t help that everyone around her is talking about death and demons and apocalyptic signs as casually as if they’d been talking about tomorrow’s weather _(yeah, possibly gonna rain)_ instead of the end of the world. Maybe that’s why the whole situation, every word exchanged, suddenly becomes too much for her to take in and all she can think of, all she wants is some peace and quiet. A breather, just for a minute.

So with a fake half-smile on her lips, she tells them, _I'm just gonna make sure we’ve got all we need_ and while doing so, drops down from the kitchen table she’s been sitting on for the past half an hour.

Ellen doesn’t say anything, just nods, _approving_ (shit, as if she still needed her mother’s permission for every action she makes!), and Bobby, he’s too busy calling both Sam and Dean _idjits_ over something they said to even notice she's exiting the room, little less that something isn't right.

She makes her way out of the house, through the yard and into the warehouse where Bobby keeps most of his stuff and it’s only then, behind the wooden doors, that she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You'll be fine, Jo.

The next fifty minutes or so, she keeps cleaning their guns and other armory, whatever she can find, making sure they’ve got every equipment they _might_ need all ready to go. She empties all the bags they'd packed earlier onto the old kitchen counter, goes through the contents one by one until she's pretty sure it's all _there_ and that everything is working properly.

She's just repacking the last bag when, out of the blue, hand appears on her backside. On her bottom, more precisely. Her first instinct is to do something about it, to _fight_ but her senses are quicker - she recognizes the all too familiar scent. How the hell did she not hear him coming?

The hand moves, ever so slowly, tracing the waistline of her jeans and following it to the front.

Her brain is telling her to turn around, to tell him go fuck himself, but-

He's fast, a lot faster than she ever imagined him to be, because in a blink of an eye, her zipper is already open and she can feel his finger caressing her softly through the white cotton panties. He takes his time at that and she can feel herself getting more and more aroused, _wetter,_ with each touch. Now, all she wants is to move a little bit closer to the hand, to squirm a little. To make it touch her from _all_ the right places.

Maybe she does move a little, she isn't sure, because the finger finds its way inside her and the small, circling motion it performs, scrambles every rational thought of hers.

His fingers, pumping in and out, going round and round, her hands on the counter, looking for support, his hot breaths against her ear, her skin sweating, everything burning and _oh gods-_

She comes close, but _fucking hell,_ not close enough - his finger retreats, _teases_ and she whines aloud before she can stop herself. Well, it's probably not the first time he's made someone moan so, whatever.

But then, as if reading her mind, he laughs at that and, well, _that does it._ You're a hunter for God's sake, his goddamn equal!

More than that, though, no one is allowed to laugh at her - not anymore, period.

She spins around on her heels, demanding eyes locking with his. She's no little girl anymore, not the way she was when they first met and she wants him to _know_ that, to see and feel it. Taste it.

Dean, he smiles at her and though it's not that boyish trademark grin of his saying more than words ever could, she still gets the message.

She says, _you wanna be an adult, then be one_ but only to herself.

His jeans, alongside with his underwear, fall on the floor roughly at the same time as hers do and the next she's sitting on the surface that was just beneath her back, legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed. She grabs his hard-one, guiding it to where she wants it - she takes him in, fast and hard, no second-guessing, no worrying. No thinking. _A breather, just for a minute._

His thrusts are relentless, harsh, _exciting_ , spitting images of _him_ and his panting, sharp breaths he takes, they make her smirk.

She finds herself imagining how he'd react if she just dropped down onto the floor to take him into her mouth. The image she sees only adds to her desire, fingers curling around his t-shirt, _tugging_.

He comes with a small growl long before she does but just the way she knew he wouldn't, he doesn't let her down; he pushes her _there_ with his fingers, with the kind of patience Jo never thought possible for a Winchester to possess.

Only after a moment of silence, only after listening to him catch his breath with her forehead against the side of his neck, this _shame_ of some sort steps in. Shit! Had she _not_ decided and sworn to herself, not even two hours ago, that she wouldn't fall for his charm and make an ass out of herself?

But Dean, he acts as if it was all _normal._ She feels him pull away from her, his hands going to her hips, grabbing her ass and then she's already standing on the floor, on a pile of clothes. Without saying anything, she grabs her trousers.

"Well," he breaks the silence, pulling his jeans up and she could swear he's chuckling, a little. At least inside. “I guess my 'Last Night on Earth' speech worked after all.”

The smile on his face brings one to her lips, too. That's Dean for you, alright.

"Yeah, well," she quips, all clothed again, "let's hope it's not your only miracle for this week, we could really use one tomorrow, you know."

Welcome back, reality. Didn't miss you.


End file.
